Words Can Kill (Ghostwriter Mystery 5)

by C. A. Larmer

  The joy didn’t last long. After parking the car in the first available spot and making a frantic dash for that last train to the top, a bleak mood settled over Roxy again. The train ride was almost as hairy as the autobahn, heading straight up the cliff at an average gradient of around 40 degrees. As the steepest cogwheel railway in the world, Caroline found the trip exhilarating yet Roxy could not relax and enjoy the stunning view that dropped away below them as they chugged up the final stretch of the mountain, which stood over 2,000 metres above sea level. She just wanted to get there and get some answers.

  While she nodded and murmured in response to Caroline’s cries of delight, her heart was simply not in it, and she chided herself yet again that she had behaved so appallingly with Max. If she had been less immature and selfish, she might have been living with him in Berlin instead of that poor American musician whose freeloading had come to a brutal halt. If she had congratulated Max on his great German job, she might have been the one to travel to Mt Pilatus with him, they might have held hands on this journey and gasped happily together.

  Instead, she was now blind to its beauty and all she could see were hair-raising cliffs and unforgiving terrain. It was the perfect backdrop to a mystery, she thought morosely, especially when the Hotel Bellevue came into sight, perched at the very top, like an elaborate eagle’s nest, circular in shape and made entirely of gleaming silvery concrete and glass.

  “God, it’s like something from a James Bond movie!” Caroline said, and she was right.

  It looked just like the setting of the 1970s’ film On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, apt, really, because that was the only Bond movie to star Australian actor George Lazenby. Roxy recalled the plot now as the train chugged closer, remembering the baddie, Blofeld, and his bevy of glazy eyed beauties, the “Angels of Death”. She shuddered a little as the train finally screeched into the station and the doors swung open. She just hoped the inhabitants were a little more welcoming.

  “Welcome to Mt Pilatus!” came the cheerful tones of the train conductor as he helped them carry their bags to the lobby and Roxy felt a little better. It was a good start.

  They were soon standing in a cavernous room with a low ceiling and a rocky wall at one end, which served as the reception area for both the Hotel Bellevue and the Hotel Pilatus-Kulm. That hotel was more traditional in style, a rectangular building made of stone and brick yet Roxy was not surprised Max had chosen the circular Bellevue. It looked a lot quirkier, certainly more intriguing, and she wondered now as they stepped past the ogling sightseers towards the reception, what secrets it would give up.

  Beyond them was a large “tourist centre” with a bar and shop, and enormous windows that faced out to a terrace with stunning, panoramic views.

  “Hello, Bonjour, Guten Tag, Benvenuto,” the smartly dressed woman behind the counter said, and Roxy was impressed.

  “You speak a few languages,” she said and the woman smiled wider.

  “Oh yes, we all do here in Switzerland, we border so many countries, you see. But our main ones are French, German and Italian.”

  Italian, thought Roxy, a small bell going off in her head.

  “Well, G’day in Australian,” said Caroline, clearly wanting to speed things up. “I made a booking last night. I’m Caroline Farrell, this is Roxy Parker.”

  The woman began to tap into her computer then stopped and glanced back at them with a flicker of recognition. “Ah, yes, Miss Farrell, we have been expecting you. Our General Manager, Mr Leon Schelling, would like to meet with you, but has asked me to check you in and get you settled first.”

  “Oh, right, great.”

  The receptionist continued tapping away, collecting both their passports and entering the details into her computer. She also took an imprint of their Visa cards and asked them to sign some forms, then produced two keycards and handed them over.

  “Your room is on the second floor, you take the lift to our right.” She waved a hand towards it. “There are complimentary drinks in the main foyer at 6:30 p.m.” She pointed out to the spacious tourist area behind them. “Just under the stairs, there is a bar. Mr Schelling will meet you there. We serve a three-course dinner at 7:30 p.m. in the Restaurant Queen Victoria. That’s at the Hotel Pilatus-Kulm—”

  “We can’t eat in your restaurant?” Roxy interrupted. She wanted to replicate Max’s visit and speak to anyone who might have seen him, including restaurant staff.

  “Ours is only open for breakfast, madam. You can access the restaurant through the main building, past the bar, or take the external walkway.” Her eyes rested on their flimsy jackets. It was not yet winter in this part of the world but it was still very brisk and Roxy’s padded denim jacket was no match for the arctic wind outside. Caroline was wearing a fluffy white, faux fur jacket that looked a little better but the receptionist was taking no chances. “You should use the indoor access way, it will suit you better. You have luggage?”

  “Do we have luggage!” Roxy said, smirking down at Caroline’s oversized suitcase.

  “Oh, it’s nothing we can’t handle,” Caroline snapped back, picking the bag up and tottering off towards the elevator.

  Roxy thanked the receptionist and followed her to the lift and up to the second floor where they were soon gasping all over again. The view from their room was breathtaking. Large, thick glass windows looked out over an outdoor café, not surprisingly devoid of patrons on this chilly evening, and across to the craggy, snow-dipped cliffs on the mountain and down to wispy white clouds below.

  “This is really familiar,” Caroline was saying as she dropped onto the prime bed beside the window. “Max took a stack of pictures almost exactly from this angle.”

  “We should check out those pictures again.”

  Caroline shook her head firmly. “No way, Miss Marple, put your magnifying glass away. We need to do as instructed and settle in first, then hit the bar.” She unzipped her bag and pulled out a bathbag. “I’ve got first dibs on the shower!”

  As she disappeared into the bathroom, Roxy stepped across to the window and unlatched it, a blast of frigid air rushing inside. To Roxy, it was a welcome tonic, waking her up and blowing away the melancholy—she had always preferred the cold to the warmth, after all—and she leaned out to inhale the fresh oxygen and soak up the magnificent view. She spotted several people standing near the edge of a high ridge, rugged up and taking photos. Several more appeared from what looked like a series of caves at one end, another man was lumbering down some steep, stone stairs, fresh from a nearby lookout. Roxy guessed that most of the day-trippers had caught the last train back to Alpnachstad by now and she was glad of it. She liked her solitude just as much as she liked the cold.

  She was just closing the window and fastening the lock when something on a distant peak caught her eye. She pulled her glasses off, wiped them clean, and then looked again. There was a thin, winding path that led away from the main drag and up towards a peak and what looked like two large satellite dishes and at least half a dozen antennae. Did they require all that to get a radio signal up here? she wondered. It seemed like overload, but it also dismissed her early theory that Max couldn’t have called because there was no mobile phone reception. She pulled her own phone out of her handbag and watched as several tiny bars appeared at the top of the screen.

  Yep, there goes that excuse.

  Before she could give it more thought, Caroline was out of the shower and shuffling through her luggage, tossing clothes out as she went.

  “You go on about my suitcase but I haven’t got a thing to wear!” she was whining. “I wasn’t expecting this place to be quite so classy.” She looked up at Roxy who was still mesmerised by the view and threw a rolled up scarf at her. “Come on, Missy! We’ve got ten minutes till drinks, and I don’t know about you, but I need a very large glass of something!”

  Chapter 9

  Half an hour later the two women stepped out of the lift and back into the hotel foyer looking a lot more refres
hed than when they’d arrived. Roxy had changed into black skinny jeans and a creamy, oversized jumper with dangly silver beads hanging across the front, and hoop earrings at her ears. Her jagged black locks had been swept back into a short ponytail and she was devoid of makeup, except for a dab of glossy plum lipstick. She had brought her handbag into which she’d placed Caroline’s iPad and her own smartphone, not because she expected to receive any calls, but because she had the photo of Max on the screen saver, and she was hoping to flash it in front of the hotel staff.

  Beside her, Caroline was wearing swirly, multicoloured skinny trousers, a black top and the same faux fur jacket. She’d changed into high-heeled, black boots and added a little blush and eyeliner to liven up her face. Yet again, heads turned as they made their way towards the bar below the staircase but Roxy was under no illusion they were looking at her.

  There were various couples milling about, all with drinks in hand, and Roxy made a beeline for a basket of cheese that was sitting on the bar, untouched. She thrust two cubes into her mouth just as a young barman appeared, a bottle of Moet in his right hand.

  “Good evening, ma’am. Some champagne?”

  “You don’t happen to have any Merlot, do you?”

  “Of course.”

  He went to place the bottle down when Caroline stepped forward. “Don’t even think about it. I’ll have one of those.”

  He bowed his head and poured her a glass before fetching Roxy’s wine. When he returned with it he saw Roxy thrusting more cheese into her mouth and he contained his smile. “You are hungry tonight.”

  “Starving. This is really tasty.”

  “It is our finest Swiss cheese,” came a smooth voice behind them and Roxy swung around to find a meticulously dressed man standing there, a small smile on his lips. He was tall and lean in a navy blue suit with a silver tie, crisp white shirt and gleaming silver cuff links. Roxy noticed an oversized Tag Heuer on his right wrist which he was holding out now towards her.

  “I am Leon Schelling, General Manager, you must be Caroline Farrell?”

  “Actually, that would be me,” Caroline said and he glanced across at her. “That’s my friend Roxy Parker.”

  “My apologies, Ms Farrell. Ms Parker.”

  He shook both their hands and then said something in Italian to the hovering waiter who promptly turned away.

  “Shall we take a seat?”

  Leon led them to a set of chairs at one end of the bar, which faced away from the other patrons and out towards the alpine view. Roxy noticed that the sun was dropping fast and the mountain was beginning to glow gold.

  The waiter appeared again, this time with a fresh bowl of cheese and a glass of soda water for Leon.

  “Please, help yourself,” he said to Roxy, adding, “but I warn you, dinner will be very delicious, so you do not want to destroy all your appetite.”

  “No chance,” she replied, dropping another cube into her mouth.

  Leon took a dainty sip of his drink then brushed a hand across his slicked back hair and turned to face Caroline. “Now, shall we proceed? I believe you are here making enquiries about your brother, Ms Farrell?”

  “Yes, I am. Max was due back in Berlin two days ago and has not shown up.”

  He blinked at her momentarily. “I see. And this is a problem, why?”

  “Well ... because we thought he’d be back by now.”

  “Back in Berlin?”

  “Yes.”

  He blinked a few times. “May I ask, how old is your brother?”

  “He’s ... er ...” She glanced unapologetically at Roxy.

  “Thirty-five in December,” Roxy said, giving her a withering look. How could she not know that?

  “Right, that’s what I was about to say.”

  The general manager smiled. “A big boy then. Surely, he can look after himself?”

  “Of course he can,” said Caroline. “It’s just that none of us have heard from him, and well, he did check out of here early so we wondered whether something had, you know, happened?”

  The way she said it sounded lame and he dipped his head to one side.

  “I am sorry, I do not mean to sound flippant, but aren’t you being a little—how do you say?—premature? Maybe your brother has taken an extended holiday, enjoying the Swiss scenery some more. Surely you can not be worried at this early stage.”

  Caroline glanced from Leon to Roxy and back. “It’s just ... you know, it’s not like him.”

  He almost snickered. “Ah, boys, they can be unpredictable, yes?”

  “I guess so,” stammered Caroline.

  “Er, no,” interjected Roxy, fast growing annoyed by the general manager’s patronising attitude and the way the conversation was progressing. “I don’t think you understand the urgency.” She dropped her cube of cheese back down, her appetite now gone. “We’re not being premature at all. It’s not just that Max has disappeared.”

  Lazily, patiently, his eyes moved from Caroline to Roxy. “Oh?”

  “Max’s flatmate, an American man called Jake Conway, has been found murdered in their Berlin apartment. He was killed late Friday night or Saturday morning.” Leon’s eyes had widened and he wasn’t snickering anymore. “We have no idea what’s happened to him but we believe he saw Max just before he died. So, we don’t really care whether Max is being an ‘unpredictable boy’ on some extended holiday enjoying your lovely Swiss scenery.” She knew her voice was dripping with sarcasm and she tried to straighten her tone. “That’s not really the issue, Leon. We just need to find him and make sure he’s okay. The Berlin police would also like to confirm he’s alive and well.”

  She didn’t mention the small matter of Max being a potential suspect in Jake’s death, nor did she have to. Leon was now nodding his head in earnest, his long fingers together, prayer-like at his lips.

  “That is different, yes, yes, I can see that now. But...” He frowned. “Surely you do not think this has anything to do with the Bellevue?”

  “We don’t know what to think,” Roxy said. “We don’t know why Max’s flatmate was killed or even if it has anything to do with Max, for that matter.” She glanced around. “All we know is that Max is missing and this was the last place he was seen. That’s why we’re here and that’s why we need your help to find him.”

  “Of course, of course, anything at all. But what can I do?”

  Roxy took a settling gulp of wine and watched as he signalled to the waiter to refill Caroline’s now empty champagne glass.

  “We need to fill in some blanks,” she said. “We believe that Max was booked to stay here last week for the whole week, but checked out early, is that correct?”

  The manager nodded. “Yes. I have studied the booking. Mr Farrell arrived Sunday evening, on the last train, and was settled into room 202.”

  “Oh, that’s our room,” said Caroline and he nodded again.

  “He was expected to stay until Saturday morning but departed early, on Wednesday morning.”

  “Did he say why he had to leave early?” Caroline asked now. “Where he was going?”

  “I am sorry, no. I explained to him that he would have to pay for the full six days as he had made a non-transferrable booking and he said this is fine. He had no choice but to go.”

  “No choice?”

  “This is what he said.” He paused. “He seemed to be in a hurry, I have to tell you this. He kept looking around as he checked out. He was very keen to make the next train down to Alpnachstad.”

  “Did he say why he was in such a hurry?”

  He shook his head. “I did not ask, I am sorry. We do not question our patrons. You understand?”

  “Of course,” said Caroline but Roxy quietly bristled.

  A young man forfeits an expensive booking and checks out early, looks anxious and tells them he is in a hurry, and they don’t bother to ask why. Was she the only nosy Parker on the planet?

  “Was Max with anyone?” Roxy asked and Caroline suddenly coughed, se
nding a spray of champagne across her lap.

  “Oh, Jesus, I’m such a klutz, sorry!” She grabbed a cocktail napkin from the table and began patting her jeans while Roxy flickered a curious glance at her then repeated the question to Leon.

  “If you mean, was he booked into the room with anyone, then no, he was not.”

  Roxy stared at him. What kind of an answer was that? “He wasn’t booked in with anyone?” Leon shook his head, began to stare intently at his glass. “But ...” she felt her weary brain turn over a few cogs, “he was with someone? Was it a man? It could have been his flatmate, Jake—”

  “He was not with another man.” The hotel manager said this while still staring at his soda glass and Roxy felt herself bristle further.

  “Please, Mr Schelling,” she said, leaning towards him, trying to catch his eyes. “We need to know all the details. No matter what.”

  He placed his hands back in at his lips and looked up at her. “We are not in the habit of discussing our guests’ er, how shall we say, liaisons.”

  The way he said that word sent a small shiver through Roxy’s heart. So he was talking about a woman, then? “Please,” she repeated. “It’s important. This could be a matter of life and death. Max’s privacy is secondary at this point. I think his sister, at least, has a right to know.”

  Roxy turned to Caroline who was also deeply engrossed in her glass, and her frown deepened. What was going on? Before she could prod further, the manager sighed.

  “Very well. I will tell you this: Mr Farrell did strike up a, how you say, friendship with someone while he was here. I believe.”

  The shiver intensified and she said, “Oh?”

  “I did witness him talking at the bar with one of our female guests at one point.”

  “Oh,” Roxy managed again.

  Caroline cleared her throat and asked, “Do you know who this woman is?”

  He shook his head, smiled apologetically. “You must understand we had a full house that night. A large Austrian tour group, a military contingent, several American couples. I would not like to say.”